


Bedside manner

by Janice_Lester



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, Crack, M/M, The Spock Cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just another day in sickbay for Doctor McCoy, dealing with a dozen cases of the sniffles and giving grumpy sex advice to his superior officers.  It's not <i>all</i> bad, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedside manner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nix_this](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nix_this/gifts).



> Written as a gift fic for, and beta'd by, [](http://nix-this.livejournal.com/profile)[nix_this](http://nix-this.livejournal.com/). Features discussion of weird alien genitals, etc., and McCoy being not _quite_ the most exemplary example of a ship's doctor Starfleet's ever seen. Podfic version by awesome podficcers [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12747669).

 

Leonard McCoy always experiences a distinct sense of relief when his captain has the good sense God gave a turnip and actually brings himself to sickbay when something is wrong with him. However, since Leonard knows from experience that anything wrong with Jim in the absence of any dangerous missions at hand is highly likely to result from his own fool recklessness, he’s really not all _that_ happy, on leaving the sanctuary of his office one morning, to find the said Jim Kirk sitting on the nearest bio-bed, legs swinging.

“What—” _idiot thing have you done now?_ “—can I help you with, Jim?”

Jim looks guiltily around the empty sickbay. “I need some advice. Sex advice.”

 _Charming_ , Leonard thinks uncharitably, before remembering that giving out some kinds of sex advice actually _is_ in his blasted job description, right between psychiatry and that other thing he hates doing. So he sighs, pulls the privacy curtain, and leans one hip against the side of the bio-bed in a way his nurses assure him makes him look moderately more approachable.

“Okay, kid. Spill.”

Jim’s smile trembles slightly. “So, Spock and I finally did the deed last night.”

Leonard clears his throat. Twice. “I see.”

“And since you’re my friend and his doctor, I don’t think it should be _too_ unethical for me to talk to you about him, because you already know all about his weird Vulcan anatomy and shit, right?”

Leonard knows all too much about Vulcan shit, having been required to collect stool samples from all the species represented at Starfleet Academy for some big study one of the medical track higher-ups was planning to immortalise himself with. Doctor Sinclair had been his name. Doctor Shit had rapidly become his informal moniker, at least as far as the student body was concerned. “Go on,” he says.

“Well, it turns out his dick is... different from ours. Looks like a sea anemone or something. Lots of little wavy tendrils. But it didn’t look like it would hurt me, so I let him do me with it.”

“If you have rectal bleeding,” Leonard says, “you probably should have led with that.”

Jim huffs. “I’m not an idiot, Bones. My ass is fine. My ass is perfect. My ass could win prizes for beauty in any major state fair. No, the point is that Spock’s little tendril things just kinda waved around in my ass, made these tiny little movements I could barely feel. And Spock just lay there, didn’t thrust or anything. And his eyes rolled up in his head, it was apparently _that_ fucking pleasurable for him. So I was stuck there for, like, two hours while Spock had orgasmic anemone sex with my ass-hole and I mentally recited warp engine performance statistics for something to do so I didn’t offend his Vulcan sensibilities by falling asleep.”

Leonard pats Jim’s uniformed knee in what his Bedside Manner 101 professor had claimed was a reassuring manner. Leonard has, personally, not noticed any patients being reassured by any of the techniques he learned in that class. But he figures it can’t hurt. And it does give him a second or two to think. Until he spots Jim’s look of sudden disquiet and decides, okay, yeah, he’d better quit it.

“Hang on, was there a medical question in that or did you come here in the hopes that I’d open up a bottle in order to commiserate with you?”

Jim sighs dramatically and flings himself back to lie on the bio-bed. The monitors tune into him, and an automatic glance at the display informs Leonard that the captain is in excellent cardiovascular health, though slightly stressed and with the beginnings of an erection. “My question? Firstly, is that Vulcan normal, or does Spock just not know what the fuck he’s doing? And secondly, what the hell do I DO about this? If I’d known falling in love with the guy meant signing up for a lot of boring anemone sex, I’d have reconsidered my options.”

Now, Leonard knows that Spock’s fucking technique is Vulcan normal, or at least Vulcan acceptable, because he knows that Spock has had satisfactory relations with one or more Vulcans in the past. But he only knows this because Spock dutifully came in to be tested for any infections he might have acquired which might potentially be transmissible sexually before and after he engaged in the said relations. And that’s private and confidential, so he’s not going to share the details.

“I have no reason to believe,” Leonard says carefully, “that Spock’s genitals, or the sexual technique you’ve described, is in any way atypical of Vulcans.”

Jim frowns. “So what do I do?”

Leonard glares at him. “Other than, you know, man up and actually communicate with this lover of yours?”

“Yeah,” Jim says, “other than that.”

Leonard shrugs. “How about you fuck him? Go gently, don’t hurt him, but if he doesn’t actively enjoy it, so what? At least you’ll be even, and then perhaps he’ll raise the subject and spare you the embarrassment.” He tries to indicate with his expression just how childish he thinks the kid is being.

“Thanks, Bones,” Jim says, beaming, and slaps his shoulder even as he’s jumping down off the bed. “You’re awesome and I owe you one.”

“Yeah, well, I’m partial to brandy and shore-leave on planets where the natives don’t shoot at me.”

Jim is already halfway to the door, and does not appear to hear him.

***

 

Leonard is just about to go off shift, at last (why does any passing strain of influenza always have to take down at least one of his staff doctors for a good couple of days?), when the second non-sniffing, non-wheezing, non-grey patient of the day strides into the bay. Leonard looks up from the cross-word puzzle he’s been attempting to solve all afternoon in between bouts of wiping people’s noses and telling them grumpily that everything will be all right and complaining really won’t make all that phlegm clear any sooner.

What’s a five-letter word for the last fucking thing Leonard wants to deal with right now?

_Spock._

Leonard stifles his instinctive groan, rises, and heads for his office, waving over his shoulder for Spock to follow. If this is what he thinks it is, he’s damn well going to have a drink on hand to help him deal with the shock. As long as he doesn’t actually achieve full inebriation in the next six minutes, he won’t be breaking any regulations.

“So, Spock,” he begins when he’s comfortably seated “—and sit down, will you? Constant craning of the neck is harmful to us poor puny human types—what can I do for you?”

Spock sits. Spock folds his hands just so. Spock raises an eyebrow, then lowers it, then raises it once more. “I require information,” he says at last, “about certain puzzling features of human mating behaviour.”

“I see,” says Leonard, who wishes he didn’t. “This about your relationship with Jim?”

Yeah, so it’s actually a little amusing to watch that faint green flush steal over those stony Vulcan cheeks.

“Indeed,” Spock says. “Jim and I engaged in anal intercourse for the first time last night.”

“Congratulations,” Leonard says, by way of showing he’s listening.

“It was unsatisfactory,” Spock says, voice perfectly flat.

 _Oh, please DO give me the god-damn details._ “How so, Mister Spock? Was there a performance issue? A medical problem, perhaps?”

“Jim appeared to derive less satisfaction than he anticipated from the enterprise. I believe this may be an unfortunate consequence of certain significant anatomical differences between our species.”

“Yeah, ‘fraid so.”

“This would not have been an issue had he permitted us to join in the usual way.”

Leonard blinks. “How’s that?”

Spock frowns, the smallest of lines appearing between his dark brows. “It is usual to join minds as well as bodies. This facilitates the sharing of pleasurable sensations between partners, and is typically practiced whenever a Vulcan male penetrates a partner. How else would his partner be gratified?”

Leonard coughs a little, and reaches for the bottle, pours himself a couple of fingers of Jack. He’d assumed that Vulcan genitals would at least provide pleasure to, well, _Vulcans_. Now it sounded as if it didn’t really matter who Spock fucked, only Spock would physically enjoy the experience. Strange; most intelligent species even on Earth engaged in sex that was enjoyable for both or all partners. “I see,” he says, and, raising the tumbler to his lips, takes his first step on the road which will hopefully lead him to forgetting all about this conversation and the mental images it’s provoked. “Are you completely sure that Jim understood what you were offering him, and why? Because the last time someone offered him a mindmeld--” He shrugs.

Spock raises one eyebrow, then both. Then he unfolds smoothly to his feet. “Thank you, Doctor, you have been most helpful.”

_I have? Well, good for me._

“I will speak to Jim.”

“You do that.” _Much better than both of you separately talking my ear off and neither of you damn well speakin’ to each other. Oh, well. At least Spock was quick about it._ He gives a mental snort. _Despite what Jim said._ “Good night, Spock.”

Spock bows his head respectfully, then turns on his heel and departs.

“Doctor Geoffrey M’Benga has just signed in to Medical,” the computer anounces, in its soft, melodic voice.

 _Praise be._ “Computer, be so good as to lock the CMO’s office door.” Almost before he’s finished speaking, the computer sounds its compliance tone.

Leonard puts his booted feet on his desk, crosses his ankles, and gets stuck into his drink. These damn horny kids will be the death of him.

***

“What?” Leonard demands, jerking awake confused and hungover and not real clear on how he got back to his quarters.

“Incoming transmission from the bridge,” the computer calmly repeats.

“All right, all right, put it through. Audio only.”

There’s a pause, and then Uhura’s voice is piped into his quarters just as clearly as if she were standing right there by his bed watching him scratch muzzily at his stubble. “Doctor McCoy?”

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“The captain and the first officer haven’t reported for alpha shift, and they aren’t answering comms. Could you please use your medical override and make sure they’re okay?”

“Oh,” Leonard says, suddenly feeling a little queasy. “Sure. Do you have a location?”

A pause. “Captain’s quarters. Both of them.” She sounds amused, and Leonard reflects—not for the first time—that she got over Spock a damn sight sooner than he got over her.

“I’m on it. McCoy out.”

The computer helpfully terminates the transmission so he doesn’t have to trouble himself to press any buttons, and Leonard begins the delicate process of hauling himself out of bed without causing his head to explode.

***

Ten minutes later, the computer accepts his input of the CMO’s override code and opens the door to Jim’s quarters. Leonard, who has a pretty good idea what he’s going to see, steps in quickly so the waiting security grunts won’t see anything too deliciously gossip-worthy.

“Lights to ten percent,” he directs the computer, which responds immediately.

As his eyes adjust, Leonard can gradually make out more and more of the scene: the world’s most emphatically unmade bed, the pale lines of two mismatched legs peeking out from beneath a rumpled sheet, the possessive hand on Spock’s buttock. The idiots are lying, facing each other, dead to the world and smiling like fools. There’s a distinct smell of sex in the air, and Spock’s fingers lie as if glued in place, spread into the mind-meld position on Jim’s cheek.

Leonard gives them a quick scan with his tricorder, determines that they’re both fine, just exhausted and slightly dehydrated. He considers administering hypos to correct that, but Jim will only wake complaining about psychotic sadomasochistic physicians and Leonard has enough of a headache already, thank you very much. He settles for requesting a large bottle of water from the food slot and leaving it on the pillow as an unsubtle hint. Then he turns and leaves.

“If they haven’t emerged in a couple hours,” he tells the rather attractive, slightly chubby security man who’s just unpeeled himself himself from the corridor wall to come to attention, “call me. If they do emerge, tell them to eat something, drink something, and then get their butts down to sickbay so I can inform them at great length what monumental damn idiots they’ve been.”

“Yes, sir,” says the security man, stifling a smirk.

“You can go, Evans,” Leonard tells the other one, waving him off. “I”m sure we don’t need to subject both of you to the boredom of hanging around a doorway to pass on a message.”

“Yes, sir,” Evans says, and wanders off down the corridor.

Leonard looks his new friend up and down. Red is definitely the man’s colour. “What was your name, by the way?”

“Ensign Deshpande, sir.”

Leonard offers his best doctorly smile, but drops it when the man looks more worried than reassured. “Listen, Deshpande.” He casts around for an excuse. “I don’t like the look of that mole on your neck,” he says blandly. “Bring it down to sickbay when you get off shift and I’ll make sure it isn’t what I think it might be.” He pats the man’s arm, lets his hand linger on his biceps just a little too long. “And then I’ll buy you a drink.”

Deshpande visibly cheers up. “Aye, si—I mean, yes, Doctor. Of course. Right after shift. I’ll be there. With my, er, mole.”

They share a speaking look.

Leonard whistles as he walks away. Babysitting idiots too stupid to discuss the mechanics of sex involving their mutually unfamiliar genital anatomy before trying it may not be what he signed onto a starship for, but, hey, at least it just might get him laid.

 

***END***

  



End file.
